


i wanna feel dirty

by SafelyCapricious



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Blindfolds, Cunnilingus, F/M, Hydra Jemma Simmons, Multi, Sex Pollen, Shameless Smut, Smut, Table Sex, Undercover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:02:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6364159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyCapricious/pseuds/SafelyCapricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smut ficlets in various universes with various characters. (There is sometimes plot, I'm sorry.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. want me (jemma/grant)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! This is for my "Holy Shit I have 200 followers HOW" prompt fill over on tumblr, and this is for the prompt biospec + “How do you want me?” 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> (I'm cross posting here and on tumblr because I should have a smut collection so that people who don't want it can avoid it and I don't so...)

Grant has seen plenty of naked women – he’s _touched_ plenty of naked women and been the one to get them naked in the first place – but he still feels dry throated when Jemma Whitehall walks into the room. Which – she’s not even _naked_ , she’s wearing a soft blue robe but he knows what she’s here for and it makes the glimpses of her bare skin he can see as the robe gapes with her movement more tantalizing.

“How do you want me?” she asks, once she’s walked to the center of the room where the fainting couch is, positioned just so to get the best light from the wide windows that are at Grant’s back.

“However you like, it’s your painting after all,” Grant manages to sound bored as he forces himself to turn away so that he can pretend to check of his supplies – like the paint hasn’t been set up perfectly for the past hour that the mob heiress has kept him waiting. (She’s a mob heiress, her father is the one who shot Garrett and Grant is going to bring them all to their knees – he has to remember that and the mission before he does something stupid.) “Try to get comfortable, it’s a position you might be in for a while.”

He’s pointedly turned away from her but he hears when the robe drops to the floor, a heavy slump of cloth. There’s no noise then and he gives it a few more beats, fiddling with a tube of ochre. “I think I know what position I want,” she says, but her voice comes from right behind him and he’s turning before he’s considered it. 

She’s gorgeous. And very, _very_ naked. 

He’s clutching a paintbrush in one hand and just staring up at her, his stool leaving his head slightly lower than hers. “Well,” he tries, crediting years of seduction training at the academy for how his voice doesn’t break, “why don’t you go get into it then?”

Her smile is sharp and then she’s tugging him up by his tie and even though he could, obviously, resist he doesn’t.

He’s not even surprised when she pushes him down onto the couch, or when she promptly straddles him, smiling wickedly. “You didn’t really think you were chosen for your artistic talent, did you Mr. Warren?” She’s sitting far back on his legs, hands resting casually against her own thighs.

“No,” he says, “I didn’t.” He did, but he’s good at his job and he can absolutely reconsider his play. And that’s what this has to be. He’ll do what he was hired to and do a good enough job that he’ll have a few more visits to the manor and he’ll get what he needs to destroy them all. (It has nothing to do with how his hands are itching to touch her skin or how confident she looks in her nudity.)

His hands go to her hips, her skin is as warm and soft as he thought it would be, and he yanks her forward into his body. 

She lets out a delighted laugh, fingers curling at the back of his neck as she lowers her mouth to his. The kiss is surprisingly chaste, with her pulling back every time he tries to put more pressure on it, and he realizes abruptly that even though she’s the one naked he’s most assuredly the one at a disadvantage.

She leans away from him, using the hand at the back of her neck to hold herself steady, takes his hand in one of hers and drags it down her body, from her neck between her breasts and to the warm tangle of hair at her cunt. He touches her lightly, teasingly, fingertips tracing the lips of her sex but never dipping in until she lets out a frustrated breath and leans forward to actually kiss him.

He gives her his fingers when she gives him her mouth, swallowing the noises he’s able to invoke as he learns just how she likes to be touched.

He’s got three fingers buried in her warm, wet heat before he gets the pressure on her clit just right and she falls to pieces against him. Her collapse against him puts her weight even more fully on his still trapped cock and he chokes back a moan, even as he gentles her through the end of her orgasm. Her head is resting against his shoulder, mouth open and panting against his neck.

“Ah, you are _good_ ,” she says, her posh accent slurring a little with pleasure. “I mean, I didn’t need you to be, I was going to help you take down my father anyways but what an _incentive_.”

He freezes where he is and she wiggles against his fingers and gives another little happy sigh.


	2. blindfold bets (jemma/grant/brock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is rare that Jemma has both of her specialists at once and they’ve decided to spoil her since it’s been so long. 
> 
> Smut, smut, nothing but smut. Threesome smut. 
> 
> Jemma/Grant/Brock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Jemma/Rumlow/Ward + “You like that, don’t you?”

It is rare that Jemma has both of her specialists at once and they’ve decided to spoil her since it’s been so long. She finds the two of them overwhelming on a good day, so she’s not sure why they feel the need to make it even harder for her to keep up with them. What she does know is that she is not sure whose hands are whose – she could figure it out from the angle of their hands or, if she was feeling ambitious, she could use her own hands to check, but she’s far too gone for that. 

She lets her head fall back onto Grant’s shoulder, her grip on his hair tightening when he rewards her with a biting kiss to her jaw. Fingers work inside her – Brock’s, she thinks, but she’s not entirely certain – and when there’s sudden warm wet heat to counterpoint the drag of callouses over her other nipple she finds herself arching helplessly into the touch. Her other hand digs into Brock’s shoulder – it’s definitely his mouth on her breast – and she’s sure she’s drawing blood. 

“Fuck,” she manages to push out through frantic breaths and a heartbeat that feels like it’s choking her.

Grant laughs behind her and then there are two sets of fingers at her sex, a thumb brushing over her clit with maddening light touches and calluses catching against her flesh as another finger joins those inside her. “You like that, don’t you?” he says, lips brushing against the curve of her throat.

 She knows her specialists and so, even though she knows she’s going to be barely coherent, she still tries to wrap her tongue around some noise of agreement – otherwise the bastards will actually stop. “Uh-huh.”

 Brock smiles against her breast, tongue curling around her nipple as his, his?, hand squeezes at her other breast. The fingers in her twist and the thumb on her clit pushes lightly and then releases and – the sound she makes when she comes would be something to be embarrassed about if she couldn’t feel Grant’s cock twitch against her back or if she couldn’t feel Brock growl around her breast.

He leaves her breast with a last lingering lick, but then there’s a hand there warm and soothing and playing with her sensitive nipple. Brock takes her hand off his shoulder and guides it to her other breast and then he’s gone for a moment. She whimpers at the loss but Grant tugs her tighter back into his embrace and then there’s a mouth on her cunt and she forgets her own name.

 “Oh, oh fuck, _Brock_ ,” is all she can manage and she tries to move her hips into his tongue but Grant’s hands are like iron at her hips and she writhes, hands reaching for Grant and Brock and anyone she can dig her fingers into as she’s thrown into another orgasm that leaves her shaking and boneless.

Her heart is pounding so hard in her ears that she can’t hear anything for several long moments, but when it slowly comes back to her she knows they’re kissing and – this is not _fair._ She pulls her blindfold down, wincing as it’s caught in her tangled hair, and sure enough, Brock has one hand buried in Grant’s hair and is angling his head into the kiss over her shoulder and – fuck, they are really lovely together.

She must make some noise because they stop and turn to look at her and Grant is smiling wickedly and Brock is trying to frown. “Told you she wouldn’t keep it on.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” Brock says, leaning forward to give her a through kiss that tastes like them, “why couldn’t you wait for one more orgasm?”

She blinks languidly and waits for her mind to parse the statement – when she realizes what they’re talking about she pulls back slightly and slaps Brock’s arm, and then Grant’s. “Were you two _betting_ on what I’d do? You’re horrid.”

Grant grins and guides her into a kiss, his clever fingers untangling the knot of the blindfold from her hair as he does. By the end of the kiss she’s more than ready to forgive both of them but…”What were the stakes?”

Grant grins and pulls back, going so far as to spread out on his back on the bed before holding out an arm for her to snuggle into his side. “I get a blowjob.”

“Oh,” she says, sighing and glancing at where Brock’s gaze is clearly fixed on Grant’s cock, “So there were no losers, that’s nice at least.” Two orgasms is her limit without a break, especially when they’re both clitoral, or else she gets unpleasantly sensitive, so she’s happy to watch Brock wrap his mouth around Grant and watch how Grant tries so hard to stay still in their weird little struggle for power. It’s blazingly hot and after she starts to cool down she guides a hand down herself to take a bit of the edge off until they decide to gang up on her again.

She does love when she has both of her specialists back, even if she is going to have to take at least the next day off work and then deal with all her coworkers knowing grins for the next week.


	3. may I? (jemma/hive)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was someone standing at the door of her lab. She tried not to let her irritation show – they probably thought they were being unobtrusive but she hated being watched. “Can I help you?” she asked, not bothering to raise her head from her work.
> 
> Hydra!Jemma/Hive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt Hive/Jemma “Oh, don’t mind me. Just enjoying the view.”
> 
> This one is...odd. Have fun!

There was someone standing at the door of her lab. She tried not to let her irritation show – they probably thought they were being unobtrusive but she hated being watched. “Can I help you?” she asked, not bothering to raise her head from her work.

“Oh, don’t mind me. Just enjoying the view.” The voice was strangely familiar and so she looked up despite herself.

It was Ward – or, not Ward – gossip said that Ward had died or been possessed or something. In any case, there was something walking around wearing Ward and Director Malick was very interested in his well being. Which meant she most assuredly had to be polite – just because there had been no announcement didn’t meant she would be spared if she spoke wrong to the Director’s pet project. Here at HYDRA, at least, what you didn’t know could hurt you. 

“Sir,” she said, turning away from her table to watch him stalk around the room, “can I help you?”

“Hm,” he said, body moving like his bones were liquid. His gaze flicked to her and she realized he was circling – or spiraling – getting closer as he walked around her. “Yes, I think you can.”

She waited, turning slightly with him until he finished his examination – presumably – and came to a stop right before her. “Sir?” she prompted, when he didn’t say anything for several long moments.

“Would you let me fuck you?” He tilted his head to the side, oddly birdlike, and stared into her eyes without blinking. It was rather off-putting and would, she decided, have been enough to make her realize he wasn’t Ward even if she hadn’t known beforehand. (She’d only met the man once – she’d been in charge of finding a cure for an alien virus he’d been exposed to after trying, and failing, to save his team’s chemist – he’d been rude and she hadn’t been impressed.)

“Um,” she said, because she was in the middle of her work and it _was_ time sensitive. She wouldn’t object, she decided, glancing at him quickly, for all that she’d disliked who had originally occupied the body, it was a very fine specimen – and being possessed or what have you hadn't hurt it any, she could tell since he was shirtless. “I’m afraid that my work is time sensitive, maybe tonight?” She decided that was a politic enough answer – it would keep her from trouble for unfinished work and if he was still interested later she’d be willing, or he’d find someone else.

He tilted his head the other way but didn’t say anything. She shifted her weight and glanced at the sample she had been activating and offered him a bright smile before turning back to her work. “So I’ll just…?” She nodded to herself and reached for her pipette aid when she felt him step up close behind her. 

She tried to ignore him, after all, he hadn’t _said_ anything so maybe he was just curious as to what she was doing?

Then he leaned close and she could feel his breath against her neck and then he ran his tongue, lightly, along the tendon. Before she could decide what to do – accept it, lean away, protest – he’d set her teeth against her and she was overwhelmed with sensation. He wasn’t gentle and some part of her mind was insisting that it hurt but all she could feel was white, hot pleasure along her nerve endings. She could feel it in her fingertips and in the throbbing at her core and then his mouth shifted, just the slightest bit, and the tension within her snapped.

She might’ve cried out, but she couldn’t be sure over the pounding of her ears and then his mouth was gone and she felt bereft at the loss as she fell back against him. She couldn’t feel her fingertips or her legs at all and she let him hold her close, hand soothing through her hair.

“May I fuck you, now?” he asked and she shivered, because his voice felt like a physical caress down the front of her mind. 

“Uh-huh, yeah, g’head,” she managed, head limp against his shoulder.

He laughed and it sounded like thunder bouncing around the room but it ended in the hiss of sand and he maneuvered her easily, removing her lab coat and her pants and then he pushed her forward across the table.

 Her muscles were still trembling from her orgasm and the table felt cool and welcome against the side of her face.

Then he fucked into her – there were hands holding her hips and fingertips toying with her nipples and a light touch against her clitoris that was almost too much and gentle hands pushing her hair back out of her face and all of her nerve endings were singing. She felt whole, when he was in her and found she had enough strength to try to pull him back in every time he withdrew, only for the pleasure to crest again when he did surge back in.

The hands at her hips tightened and the fingers at her nipples tugged and the light touch at her clit got forceful and the hands tugged at her hair and she came in a blaze the sparked colors behind her eyes and even when she lost consciousness, pleasure followed her.

She woke up leaning against something firm. There was a slow and steady beat where her head was resting but it was far too slow to be a heartbeat. She could count eight of her own inbetween the gaps.

Sensation came back slowly. Her mouth was dry and all of her muscles ached but she felt _alive_. There were fingertips slowly petting through her hair and a voice. It was too much effort to open her eyes so she didn’t.

“I’ve chosen my consort.” His voice rubbed crushed velvet along every inch of her.

 “There are better options, I can –“ She knew that voice but she didn’t care; she only wanted Him to speak again.

“I don’t want anyone else. She is my consort.” The fingers tugged lightly at her hair and she turned her head into the pressure, smiling faintly. “She survived my pleasure, she is mine and if anything should harm or displease her it will die.” She shivered happily in His embrace.


	4. keep you (jemma/will)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re fucking, not making love, but it’s been so long since Jemma’s had Will in her arms – in her – that she doesn’t even care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt Jemma/Will + "Can I keep you?" over on tumblr.

They’re fucking, not making love, but it’s been so long since Jemma’s had Will in her arms – in her – that she doesn’t even care. Anyway she can have him is how she wants him and she arches her back greedily into his thrusts.

“Oh yes, right there,” she moans, eyelids fluttering shut for a moment when he changes the angle of his thrusting. She forces her eyes open even as he hits the spot inside her that makes her breath hitch – she doesn’t want to miss a moment of looking at him. He’s clean-shaven and looks so much younger.

She manages to untangle her fingers from the bedspread and cups his cheek, and he grins at her, bright and fierce before letting her pull him down for a panting kiss. His hands move down and he angles her hips and –

She knows she’s making ridiculous noises, but he’s always liked them and made her not embarrassed so she doesn’t try to muffle them as she thrashes in his grip. He rests his forehead against hers and the speed of his hips increases and she’s coming helplessly, clutching at his sweaty back and arching and seeing stars.

His cheek is soft against hers, and she loves it but she thinks she also misses the burn of his beard, and he’s heavy, pushing her down into the mattress now that he’s spent but it’s comforting and she missed it so much she can feel the tears prick her eyes.

“Sorry,” he says, pushing himself up and out of her after a moment and she finds herself following him, not ready to let go of the contact.

“It’s fine,” she says, ‘I like it,’ she means.

She follows him into the bathroom where he disposes of the condom and washes himself, she uses the toilet unashamed – but when he does arch a look at her she just grins back. “One of the leading causes of vaginal infections is not peeing after penetrative sex.”

He laughs and kisses her softly once she’s washed her hands. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

She grins and follows him back into his bedroom, curling up against him as soon as he’s settled. She fits perfect against his side and his fingers start to trace familiar designs on her back. She buries her face in his neck and feels tears – happy tears – trying to fight their way free.

“God,” he says, and she lifts her head and rests her chin on his chest so she can meet his eyes with a smile, “you're incredible. Can I keep you?”

She laughs and presses a kiss over his heart. She doesn’t tell him that there’s no way he’s getting rid of her – she broke the statue on time travel for him and while she could explain he’s never been on an alien planet for fourteen years and she knows how skeptical he would be. So instead she smiles and ducks her head slightly and says, “I think something can be arranged.”

He grins and because she missed him and because she can she moves, straddling him easily and leaning down to leave a line of kisses down his jaw. She has the advantage of already knowing exactly what he likes and so she’s reaching for his bedside table and the condoms after a few short moments.


	5. ikea (jemma/bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Undefined domestic AU smut, Jemma/Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt Bucky/Jemma “I really like a man who’s good with his hands.”

Jemma is curled under his arm, poking at her tablet with her lower lip trapped between her teeth and Bucky is filled with the kind of contentment he’d been sure he’d never have again.

 Her expression brightens dramatically and with a few last taps on the screen she turns to him with a smile so wide he recons her face’ll crack. He kisses her, because he can’t not, light and teasing and then he asks, “What’re you so happy about?”

 She shakes her tablet and says, “I just found the perfect table.”

 He can’t help but glance around their apartment, gaze lingering on the dining room table she’d found at an estate sale and loved. They’re still only halfway furnished but he didn’t think – he wonders, shocked at his own lack of panic, just what sort of gatherings she’s expecting them to have.

 “Do you want to see?” She holds the tablet out towards him and he just shakes his head and kisses her lightly again.

 “If you like it, I’ll like it.” He’s rewarded with an even brighter smile and a deeper kiss.

 Three days later while he’s swearing over indecipherable directions and missing screws he thinks he should’ve maybe actually seen what she was ordering. Regardless, he does get it put together. He may have resorted to some non-recommended methods, but the table is sturdy enough that he can push against it with his left arm and it doesn’t budge.

 It’s not a very big table, and it’s higher than their other one, and awful heavy – he’s not sure it’ll be good for guests but he hopes she isn’t too disappointed that it’s not what she wanted.

 He’s wrong, of course – he’s used to being wrong these days and doesn’t mind – because when she gets home and catches sight of it she actually gasps in delight before examining it. “You put it together?”

 “Yeah,” he says, running his hand over the back of his head and pretending that he hadn’t sworn at the table for the better part of an hour, “’course I did.”

 She curls her hand over the back of his neck and he happily lowers his head to accept her kiss – it’s deep and dirty and hell, if this is the sort of thanks he gets for putting together a table he’ll carve her a whole set’a chairs by hand.

 His left arm curls carefully around her waist and he uses his other hand to brace himself against the new table – she’s short enough that kissing her without lifting her up always puts a terrible crick in his neck but he never cares.

 Jemma pulls back, breathless, after a minute, and runs her fingers down the front of his shirt before taking a half step back and then easily pulling herself up to sit on the table. “I really like a man who’s good with his hands,” she says with a curl of her finger that has him stepping forward into the cradle made by her open legs.

He laughs and rests both of his hands on her hips – he doesn’t have to duck his head much to kiss her now and so he does. He teases her with it before saying, “I am that.”

Her fingers brush lightly over his cheek and she asks, “Do you like the table?”

 “Yeah, it’s fine. Not sure it’ll let us seat many more though, Jem.”

 She blinks and then throws her head back and laughs. It’s clearly at him but she’s so delighted that he doesn’t even care. “Bucky, love, this table is _not_ for guests.” He has no idea what it’s for then, and is about to tell her so when her own fingers curl into the loops on his pants and he’s pulled fully into the cradle of her hips. “I specifically chose it for the height and the sturdiness.”

“Oh,” is all he can say to that for a moment – and only partially because his cock is snug against her and he can definitely see the advantages of this table now. He eyes down, mentally calculating, and says, “The other tables a better angle for eating you out though.”

She shrugs, fingernails scraping against his scalp as they card through his hair. “We can get you a stool with a little pillow, for your knees.”

 He laughs, hands carefully untucking her shirt from her slacks and then greedily covering the uncovered skin with his palms. “Yeah, we should definitely get that.”

 She shivers and reaches for the front of her pants. “Let's make sure this works first, before we get accessories.”

 He can feel how well they line up, even through their pants, and he knows she can too, so he just grins and helps to lift her up so she can shove her pants down enough that he can tug them the rest of the way off. “Alright,” he agrees readily, gaze fixed on the pale blue silk panties she’s wearing – he can already see that she’s wet through them and fuck, she’s so fucking perfect and he doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

 The urge to drop to his knees and show her just how grateful he feels is strong, but before he can see if they have a box or something that’ll make the height better she’s guiding his left hand into her panties. “Ah, fuck,” he breathes, metal fingertips dancing lightly over her wet folds. “How’d I get so lucky?”

She grins and kisses the stupid expression off his face before her fingers start to fly down the buttons on her shirt. Once she’s shrugged it off she tilts her head and he knows she’s about to be a little brat. “Are you going to make me come or should I –“

 He gives her two fingers at once and she cuts off with a cry, curling forward until her head is against his shoulder. He can feel her panting into his neck as he curls his fingers, thumb rubbing near her clit but never quite touching it. She bites his shirt, fingers digging into his back as her hips cant, trying to chase her pleasure. His other hand drags from her waist up to her breast and the pretty grey silk that’s hiding it. He brushes over her nipple in time with the thrusts of his fingers and when he finally feels her tense he brushes kisses over the side of her neck he has access too and lets the movement of her own hips bring her closer to her release.

 She opens her mouth and gives a soft hitching cry and that’s when he curls his fingers and rubs, thumb finally finding her clit. He lightly pinches at her breast and nibbles her neck and her cry cuts off as she throws her head back and comes apart fully, voiceless as his fingers fuck her insistently through it.

 He releases her breast so that he can undo his pants, and then he’s slipping his fingers from her so that he can lift her up enough to drag her panties down her legs and then he’s there. He rubs his cock against her and she stares at him with sex drunk eyes and undoes her bra with uncoordinated fingers before going to the buttons on his shirt.

 He laughs and captures her hands with his, pulling them to his mouth so he can press kisses into her palms before guiding them down to his cock – she seems much more coordinated with that as he makes quick work of his shirt, only bothering to undo half of the buttons before pulling it off over his head with the undershirt following. He kicks off his pants, breath catching as her fingers squeeze just right and then he’s stepping forward and she’s guiding him into her delicious heat.

 It’s his turn to rest his head on her shoulder as he catches his breath at how perfect she feels, tight around his cock.

 The table is the perfect height, and he means to tell her but then she’s squeezing him with her muscles and he braces himself against the table and starts to fuck into her instead. She’s making the cutest little noise – half whine half moan each time he bottoms out – and when he angles his head to kiss her it’s a desperate mess of teeth and tongue and that little noise being keened into his mouth.

 She catches his lip in her mouth and bites down hard enough to sting and he uses his left hand to get leverage against her ass so he can tilt her back and change the angle and suddenly the little noise isn’t so little and they’re definitely going to get complaints from the neighbors again.

 Her own hand drifts down her stomach and he uses the new angle to fix his mouth to one of her breasts and he’s not sure what her clever fingers do but then she’s coming around him and his mouth falls open because she’s tightening around him and it feels so fucking good. He loses his rhythm for a moment and then her mouth is latching onto his nipple and she’s shifting her legs around him and he feels it start at his spine and then he’s coming.

 He catches himself with a hand against the table that she’s now lying flat against, legs still high on his waist and they both catch their breath together.

Once he thinks he can move again he pulls her to him and off the table and walks – each step jostling his softening cock in her and it’s a little too much for both of them but still feels good. He swipes a washcloth from the open linen closet on his way and then sets her on the bed, carefully pulling out and cleaning her before using the same cloth on himself. He crawls up the bed and collapses, carefully, over her, burying his face in her neck and delighting in the way her arms curl around him immediately.

“I can’t believe you got us a sex table,” he mumbles an indeterminable time later into her neck and is rewarded with a pinch to his side.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it – besides, you’re the reason I thought it was a good investment, you always want to fuck me on the table and the angle is bad for your back.”

And with that he can do nothing but laugh, because if she’s going to start buying furniture because he wants to fuck her on it they’re going to have duplicates of everything in the goddamn apartment.


	6. pollen (jemma/brock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex pollen, cunniliguis, an ICER and Jemma/Brock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt Jemma/Rumlow, “I’m sure we can put those lips to better use.”
> 
> Possible hints of dubious consent due to the nature of sex pollen (though there is no threat of death here from not having it) and also due to ICER use. If you have any concerns please feel free to ask me here or on [tumblr](http://capriciouswrites.tumblr.com/ask).

Her eyes are still watering and she has to take a break from trying to navigate her way out of this utter mess to wipe desperately at them. The compound won’t kill her. She has to keep repeating it to herself because she feels like she’s going to crawl out of her skin, but the compound _won’t_ kill her.

 It just might make her feel like she wants to die.

On the upside, she thinks as she sneaks a peak around a corner and sees two HYDRA agents frantically tearing at each other’s clothes, she’s the only one who apparently knew what to expect from the compound and it’s going to make her escape much easier.

 She backtracks and takes a different corridor, leaving them to their occupation. She could’ve shot them with her ICER, easily, but she’s only got so many shots in it and they’re too busy to cause much trouble.

She runs into trouble the next floor down. There’s only one hallway and due to the inane set up of the base she has to go through it to get to the exit and there is someone in the way. She pulls her head back around the corner and tightens her grip on the ICER. He’s leaning against the wall, hand on his cock but his clothes are still on and he’s definitely got a weapon in his other hand – which officially makes him a problem.

 Jemma knows she’s a good shot with the ICER – at least now after hours of weapons practice – but she also is almost positive she knows who he is and it is not good news for her. (She choses not to examine that the itching under her skin got worse when she saw him in a way it didn’t with the other agents she’s run into – and she definitely doesn’t want to admit that the only reason she’s pretty sure she knows who it is, is due to the ridiculous crush she had on the former STRIKE commander.)

 She takes a deep breath and peers around the corner again and – his head is tipped back and his eyes are closed and she can see where he’s dropped his weapon (an ICER! More good news) and he’s gripping himself with one hand and using the thumb of the other hand to tease himself and –

 “Oh fuck,” she breathes as rational thought starts to stutter in her brain.

His eyes fly open and he turns his head but he doesn’t take his hands off himself and he just stares at her for a moment before his lips curl into a wicked grin. “Doctor Simmons,” he says like they’ve ever spoken before, “fancy meeting you here.”

 She has her ICER raised – when did she do that? – and her hands are remarkably steady considering that the sound of his voice sends shivers down her spine and heat to her cunt.

 Before she can formulate any reply through her very dry throat – or actually follow through with using said ICER – he speaks again. “Do you like what you see?” He gives his cock a lazy stroke that makes his eyelids flutter shut for a moment and when he fixes his gaze back on her his pupils are even more blown. He licks at his lower lip and tugs again. “You used to look, a lot, I know you want a taste.”

 That’s not precisely what she wants, she thinks, as her gaze follows his tongue as it darts out again, wetting his mouth to a pretty shine. “Why don’t you put it away,” she manages after a short pause to steel her spine, “so that when you wake up you have some respectability?”

 There’s precome beading at the head of his cock and he uses his thumb to rub it down, though even she can tell that the glide of his hand is anything but smooth. “Fuck, keep talking like that, sweetheart, and I’ll come before I ever get your mouth.”

 She narrows her eyes and decides, then, that this is not going to go the way he thinks it is. She shifts her grip so she can hold her ICER steady with one hand while her other hand goes to the fasteners on her jeans. “I’m the one with the advantage here, _Brock_ ,” she says as she shimmies her pants down her legs, “I’m sure we can put those lips of yours to better use than pissing me off.”

 His gaze is fixed on the apex of her thighs and she watches a muscle in his jaw jump before he takes two steps forward and then stops to swallow when she waves the ICER.

 “On your knees, if you want to taste me you have to crawl the rest of the way.”

 “Oh, fuck,” he says and drops abruptly enough to his knees that she winces. This is a terrible idea and some part of her knows it but the itch under her skin is growing into a warm weight in the pit of her belly and she can tell that he’s gone single minded. He shuffles forward on his knees until he’s right in front of her. She presses the ICER to his forehead and he shoots her a look she can’t entirely read. “Really?”

 Her answer turns into a cut off cry when he pushes forward against the weapon and fastens his lips over her clit.

 She buries her free hand in his hair and tugs, hard, and is rewarded with a curl of his tongue that has her seeing stars. “Taste so fucking good, sweetheart,” he says and she can see his arm working as he changes angles and dips his tongue inside her, his nose brushing her clit.

 When she comes – and she comes fast, not due to his skill (though he is terribly skilled) but because of that damn stupid aphrodisiac compound – it doesn’t lessen the burning under her skin at all and she tugs harder at his hair as he nurses her through it.

 He turns his head, the ICER drawing a line from his forehead to his temple as he bites a kiss into her inner thigh and then he’s pumping three fingers in her and –

 She comes fast, again, and her finger spasms against the trigger and he goes limp. Her fingers are still tangled in his hair and so she rides out the last of her orgasm against his face which is – well, if she wasn’t severely compromised already she might feel bad about it.

 She tucks him back into his jeans and buttons them but leaves him, sprawled there, with her on his face as she makes her way towards the exit after pulling her pants back on.

She leaves him her knickers, because he deserves something for his efforts.


	7. berserker (jemma/grant)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma touches the Berserker staff instead of Grant or Melinda and things go a little bit differently.
> 
> Jemma/Grant smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt “Oh, don’t mind me. Just enjoying the view.” for Jemma/Grant from Shineyma on Tumblr. <3

There’s blood under her fingernails and she’s having trouble getting it out. Probably because her hands are shaking too badly for her to actually get under her nails and the soap is only doing so much and –

What little calm she’d managed to pull back into herself is shattered by a sharp rap on the door and she can feel that red haze descending again and doesn’t have to look in the mirror to know she’s snarling.

She splashes her face with water and by the time there’s a second knock she’s able to pretend, again, to be herself. “Yes?” she calls out, wiping her hands with a scratchy white towel and ignoring the red she leaves behind.

“You okay, Simmons?” It’s Ward and she wants to swear but she doesn’t want to risk him hearing her through the door. Skye or Fitz she could’ve chased away easily enough, but he takes his job of taking care of all of them so seriously she knows he’s not going to leave until he’s made sure she’s okay.

Which is unfortunate because she’s _not_ okay. But maybe she can pretend for a few minutes.

She throws the towel into the bathroom and turns off the light and takes a deep breath before opening the door. Her gaze darts up and down the corridor, taking it all in quickly and efficiently, before turning her attention to Ward. She wonders if that’s what it’s always like – for him, for May – the constant awareness and ability to do _anything_ with it. She already knows exactly how much force it would take to take him out, right then, and the best way to do it and –

Maybe it’s more just muscle memory for them, maybe they don’t see it in lines and equations.

She doesn’t want to ask. She doesn’t want to know. And given how the good professor had looked at her after she’d taken out all of the attackers, clutching the completed staff in her bloody hands, full of admiration and awe, she doesn’t want to know if she’s better at this than them. She doesn’t want to be.

She doesn’t try to smile because she knows it’ll be a grimace, instead she just shrugs. “No, but I’m not worse.”

He nods and then steps into her room, crowding her for a moment and she digs her nails hard enough into her palms to draw blood to keep from throwing him through a wall. “Uh huh,” he says, stepping back and she’s not sure what he’s seen on her face but he gives her air. He crosses the room and puts the bottle of alcohol she’d noticed earlier on her small table and sits down.

“You should leave.” She jerks her chin towards the still open door and doesn’t get closer to him.

He runs his hands through his hair and she feels the bloodlust spark into something else before she turns her head resolutely away. “Simmons – Jemma, you’ve never killed anyone. I have. Trust me, the last thing you need is to be alone right now.”

She slams the door and is across the room faster than should be possible but she catches herself, her hand curled into claws a centimeter away from his face, and stops. “I don’t want to talk about it Ward – I just want to sleep.”

He tilts his head into her curled fingers and there’s something dark in his expression she’s never seen before – because he wasn’t letting them see or because she couldn’t until now? “You’re shaking. Adrenaline I’ll bet. You still want to fight, don’t you?”

She spins away from him and grabs one of the sturdy plastic glasses off the counter and hurls it so hard at the wall that there’s a dent and it’s got spider web cracks when it falls to the carpet with a soft thump.

She knows he’s standing even though she can’t see him – this awareness of everything is wonderful and terrible – and then his hands are firm on her hips and his mouth is against her neck. “Fight or fuck, which do you want, Jemma? I’m here to help.”

She digs her nails into the back of his neck and arches her back. “I’d kill you – I don’t – I can’t control it.”

His mouth stays, warm and wet, against the side of her neck and he chuckles. “I’m against dying, but I need you to say yes, Jemma. I know you’re not…quite yourself, but from everything I’ve seen you’re capable of consent.” His tongue darts out to taste her skin and her fingernails dig in deeper. “If you want to fight and don’t think I can take you, I’m sure May and I will be able to team up and give you something reasonable.”

She snarls, turning suddenly and backing him into the dresser, pulling his head down so she can speak directly into his mouth. “Fuck me.”

She’s in his arms with her legs around his waist in an instant and he’s kissing her hard with teeth and tongue and – she actually manages to lose track of her surroundings for an instant and it’s a relief when she finds herself thrown onto the bed with him hovering over her.

He’s right, because her brain enters the same place it did while she was beating the cultists to death and everything moves exquisitely slowly and speeds away at the same time. She can hear every strand that breaks when she rips his shirt over his head, can hear the pumping of his blood, can see the very instant he starts to harden, can feel every pass of his fingers as he pulls her clothes up and off – and then the world slows to molasses when he pulls her pants down enough to work a hand into her knickers and the angle is terrible but his finger in her cunt makes everything crystalize around her.

He’s saying something, biting it into the flesh of her breasts as he tugs her jeans down ineffectively with one hand and the other continues to softly, gently, work within her and – it crashes down over her and she feels like the world has sped up again and the next thing she knows he’s on his back and inside of her and he’s got bruises that she has a very clear memory of leaving across his chest and – she throws her head back as he surges up into her and this is so much better than the sick satisfaction of killing was.

“Fuck,” he says, moving fast and catching her under him and his hands on her hips change the angle again and she realizes abruptly that high pitched noise is coming from her as his fingers find her clit and she’s crashing back into her body again.

He comes, then, and she doesn’t know where the condom came from but she’s glad to see it when he pulls out – even as she claws at his back because she’s not done yet and then he’s just moving down and – “Oh! Ward! Fuck! Right there!”

He pulls back, and this time she can feel how weak her grip is when she tries to pull him back in and he just laughs, warm puffs of air teasing, before he says, “Call me Grant,” and then he’s back at it and –

It would be rude not to use his name. So she does. Loudly. When he brings her to orgasm using just his mouth and then his mouth and fingers and then again with his cock.

Time starts to move at a normal speed after that.

She’s spread out on the bed and she’s trembling slightly from exhaustion and the heat that was in her veins is finally slightly smothered and she doesn’t want to fight anymore, though she feels it spark as her eyes follow him as he walks around the room, righting furniture and cleaning up broken items.

He’s naked and covered in marks and gorgeous.

She must make a noise when he bends down to pick up the lamp because he turns, lamp in hand, and arches an eyebrow. “What?”

She grins, sex drunk, exhausted, and still not feeling quite herself. “Oh, don’t mind me. Just enjoying the view.”

He laughs, puts the lamp down and stalks to the bed, crawling up it until he’s poised over her again. Her fingers curl around his neck and she tries to tug him down. “How do you feel, Jemma?”

She can’t pull him down, so she pulls herself up and kisses him even though she knows it’s a terrible idea. This isn’t like that – this was just him helping her and he’s helped her but…Her crush had been terrible before this and she can’t help but want more, even as she knows it’s unlikely. (She forces that thought down, afraid of it bringing back the rage.) “Exhausted,” she says, but when he just looks at her with concern she brushes her fingers over his cheekbone and amends it to, “Better. It’s still there a little but it’s so much better.” Her eyes drink in everything she can, knowing how unlikely it is she’ll ever get this again. “Thank you.”

He smiles, that something dark hiding behind his eyes visible again and then he leans down and kisses her deeply until she’s trembling with that. “My pleasure.”


	8. berserker 2 (jemma/grant)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow up for chapter 7 berserker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **READ CHAPTER 7 BEFORE THIS ONE** (this is a part two/continuation)
> 
> I had an Erika over on Tumblr ask me: I love love love the fic where jemma took up the berserker staff instead of ward and would die if you decided to write more from that verse. Esp irt how it fits into ward's manipulative plans.
> 
> And because I like to multi-task, this also falls under the other prompt I got for biospec + love bite
> 
>  _Technically_ neither of these prompts were smut prompts, but since it's a continuation on the last chapter it seemed stupid to post it somewhere else.

Jemma does not wake up when Grant slips out of bed a little after five in the morning. Waking up would imply that she's been asleep, and while she feels rested, she also hasn't experienced what she'd term as sleep all night. Despite being sated and warm, the most she managed was a light doze.

She keeps her eyes shut, however. Let's him slip away and does her best to not think on it. She can taste iron when the shower turns on and she gives up any pretense of pretending.

She wonders if he’s found the bloody towel yet – she can’t remember where she threw it or – she tries not to listen to him move around, it’s too domestic and she’s too pragmatic to think it will last.

The toilet flushes and she turns. He’s opened the bathroom door and is leaning out of it, still deliciously naked, marked up, gorgeous, and smiling at her.

“Good, you're up. Shower?” The steam billows around him from the still running shower.

She feels heat in her gut and realizes that it’s rage. It’s not directed at him, but at herself, for letting herself hope that this would last and mean something and – even though the rage isn’t at him, she’s still contemplating how easy it would be to break his neck when she holds out a hand and he comes to her and kisses her palm. _That_ makes the heat in her gut shift from rage to lust, and she wonders if he somehow knew.

She shouldn’t do this – she knows. Because the longer this goes on the worse it’s going to hurt her when it ends – and it’s going to end soon. He’s just…doing his job.

Keeping them safe – keeping _her_ safe.

Keeping her safe from herself.

And it worked. Even still feeling more on edge than normal it’s a far cry from how bad she was when he first knocked on her door. Sure, she’s still contemplating the ways to kill, but the actual push to do so is gone. Mostly.

But even though she knows she should refuse, she's too weak to do so. He helps her out of bed and tugs her into the en suite, and then into the shower.

He's gentler than he was the night before – she lets him be gentler.

He’s all soft kisses and reverent hands as she does her best to ignore the fact that she’s having no trouble staying balanced in a wet shower with a wet, gorgeous, specialist, on his knees – especially when she still has a bruise on her leg from the last time she slipped while bathing.

The heat doesn’t really fade.

He teases her with tongue and teeth, lets her approach completion and then backs off over and over and over – her fingers tangle in his hair and she tugs – mindless with the need to come and almost too scattered to consider the destruction she could wreck on him.

Finally, finally, finally he stays and doesn’t retreat and her world goes white and her knees go weak, but he’s there with hands on her hips and the cool tile of the wall keeps her upright.

He kisses her, still painfully softly, and she runs her hands over his body.

She’s left gouges in his skin, from her teeth and her nails, and as she trails fingertips over them she can so clearly remember exactly when each occurred. Washing them clean doesn’t help erase the knowledge, but the kisses she presses to each of them at least eases her conscience somewhat.

He stays silent, lets her take her time tending to him, trailing fingers across her body as she turns and rotates around him.

Once she’s done he captures her hands and presses kisses to her palms. It’s then that she realizes the blood has washed out from under her nails. She turns her hands, and for the first time since the day before she doesn’t see the blood they’re coated with.

Before she can voice that though, Grant is pinning her against the wall of the shower.

“Hi,” he says, and she flexes her fingers, gently, against his shoulders and smiles.

“Hi,” she agrees, and she doesn’t think about how he’s not going to be able to take off his shirt for weeks, without showing everyone what happened or about how she’s not going to be able to treat his wounds without remembering this.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, ducking his head so he can peer directly into her eyes.

She flexes her fingers, considers, and curves one leg around his hips. “Ready.”

His hand curls under her thigh, and then he’s really pinning her to the wall. She tries to keep her fingers gentle against his back, but as he rolls his hips against her she fails, head falling back against the tile. “Not what I meant, Jemma.”

“Oh?” she asks, and rolls her hips, fingers dragging down his back until she can grip his ass and pull him even closer. He muffles his groan in her neck. “What did you mean, then?”

“Tease,” he breathes against the hinge of her jaw before biting a kiss there.

The protest she wants to voice – he was the one teasing her not ten minutes before! – dies in her throat and is replaced by a strangled moan as he grips her hips, lifts her, and slides home.

She finds purchase with one hand gripping the curtain rod and the other curled against the back of his neck.

He dries her off; making a game of it as she half-heartedly tries to get the towel from him and he swipes at her then kisses her newly dry skin.

She’s pleased to discover that while she knows exactly what angles and speed she needs to actually thwart him, the strength she had from the staff has started to fade.

“So,” he says, once he’s finished and has her wrapped in a towel and his arms, “I think we should try to talk to Coulson this morning.” He presses a kiss to her shoulder, to the spot where he sunk his teeth in when he came.

She makes a face and he chuckles. “Do we have to?”

Grant steps back then turns around, taking ahold of her shoulders and meeting her gaze squarely. “He’s going to get the wrong idea, if we don’t. It’s better if we face it head on – it’ll be awkward, sure, but it’s not like _he’s_ going to kick either of us off the team for it. But if we don’t tell him and he finds out later…” He shrugs. 

Her blood goes cold and she grips his wrists. “You think this is – that it’s a possibility we could get removed from…” She can’t even finish her thought; she’s not sure _how_ to finish her thought.

He frowns, brow furrowing, and tilts his head. “Uh…yeah. Normally protocol is pretty clear on this –“ 

“There’s protocol for this?” She barely recognizes her own voice, through the rushing in her ears. 

“Jemma,” he says, and pulls her closer, “You know there’s a whole pile of paperwork for registering relationships among agents.” 

Her world spins and she’s fairly sure the only thing keeping her up is the reassuring grip Grant still has on her shoulders. “Oh,” she says, faintly, “relationship?”

“Yeah, I mean,” he stares at her and bites his lower lip, “I thought that’s where this was going.” He hastens to reassure her, fingers lightening as he stumbles of his words. “There’s not – you’re not under an obligation, obviously, if that wasn’t what you…thought.”

“No!” She reaches up to cup his cheek, her voice louder than she intended. “No,” she says, softer, “I don’t…I would like that. I just didn’t think that – I would like that.”

He smiles, small and sincere, and tugs her close to kiss her.

“Good,” he says, once she’s breathless and leaning most of her weight on him. There’s something dark in his voice, but she’s willing to ignore it in favor of dragging his mouth back to hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure this really expanded on Ward's manipulative plans, but I like it too much from her POV so I hope it'll suffice. (but don't die, Erika, for real!) 
> 
> Also, can we talk about how much water they waste here? Don't do this, guys, this is a _bad idea_.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find my writing tumblr [here](http://capriciouswrites.tumblr.com/). <3


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